Okay, Maybe It Is Shules
by windscryer
Summary: Twenty years ago Juliet helped Shawn win. Now she wants her share. With interest. Sequel to 'I Can't Believe It's Not Shules' Also, so Shules it's not even funny.


My Muse is on fire.

No, really, she is.

contemplates grabbing fire extinguisher

grabs marshmallows, weenies, and roasting sticks instead

BURN, BABY, BURN. :D

This is for Raych. Because she asked so nicely.

And for Jash. Because even I am not that mean. ;D

Disclaimer: Oh if only . . . the things I would do if I was in charge . . .

* * *

"Shawn?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"What's this?"

"What's wha-"

He looked over his shoulder and froze.

Juliet was standing in the attic, helping Shawn look through boxes for an item he needed for a 'séance' he was hosting in just a few hours. Or, she had been until she'd discovered the item that she was currently turning over in her hands.

She didn't need to, really, but something forced her to ensure her memory wasn't going bad. It wasn't as good as her husband's but it was definitely sharp enough to remember this neon pink scrap of cloth.

Had she ever really been that small? she wondered.

"Um."

The sound of his voice reminded her of Shawn's presence and she looked up to see a sheepish grin gracing his face as he rubbed at the back of his neck.

It was his patented 'innocent of all but mischief' look and she'd long since grown immune to it.

Mostly.

Definitely in this case.

"Explain," was all she said, her voice flat, her expression unyielding.

"It's a bra," he finally said after a few moments to look desperately about for an escape route. But she was between him and the door and he wasn't going to jump out of the tiny window on the far side of the room.

He wouldn't fit anyway and it was three stories straight down. He was too much of a sissy when it came to heights to attempt that, even to escape her wrath.

Besides, she'd just hunt him down and he really wouldn't be able to escape with two broken legs.

"I know it's a bra. I want you to explain how it came to be in the box of your things from your childhood."

"Someone put it there?" he asked.

She gave him _her_ patented 'Do not mess with me, Shawn. You will not win.' look and he broke like a weak dam in a flash flood.

"It's yours."

"I _know_ it's mine," she said. She thought she sounded odd, then realized that it was the way her teeth were clenched that was affecting her speech. She took a deep breath—in through her nose, out through her mouth—then forced her teeth apart and said, "You knew."

"I . . ." He faltered. "I knew? I knew what?"

"You knew it was me!"

"I-" His panic shifted to confusion. "When we were kids?" he asked.

Her teeth snapped together audibly.

"No, not when we were _kids_. When we _met_. As _adults_. In the _diner_."

Understanding dawned and the sheepish grin returned.

"I . . . maybe."

She leveled a glare at him.

"No _maybe_. I know your secret, Shawn. You may have forgotten about me in the years between _this_," she held up the bra, "and the diner, but I _know_ when you saw me—and most definitely when you heard my _name—_that it was me._"_

"I . . . may have thought it was a possibility," he admitted.

"Auugh!" she shrieked and turned away, pacing a few steps out then back.

"Are you really mad?" he asked, both wariness and curiosity in his tone.

"You knew! All this time you _knew_! And you never even . . ." She stopped and whirled to face him. "I want half."

He blinked, completely thrown off by the apparent non-sequitur.

"Half of what?"

"Half of whatever you got for this." She held the bra up again. "It was a scavenger hunt. You won something. I want half."

He still looked baffled.

"You wouldn't have won without it." She crossed her arms. "I want my share."

"I . . ." His eyes came up from the tiny pink training bra and met hers. "What? Jules, it . . . It was candy. I ate it all within a day of winning it. Spent the next two days puking. I'm sorry. It's . . . It's gone."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Fine. How much was it?"

"How much what? Candy? Fifty dollars from Peter Brickley's black market candy stash. Which amounted to about three pounds worth of chocolate bars."

Juliet gave this some consideration and Shawn grew more worried by the moment.

"Juliet? Babe?"

Without a word she turned and left.

Out of morbid curiosity he followed.

o.o

Ten minutes later they pulled up in front of the Godiva Chocolatier shop.

And Shawn wished he'd burned that stupid bra.

Really, it had been stupid to hang onto it.

He had no idea why he had.

Except maybe he'd been impressed by J. O'Hara.

Or he'd stuffed it in the bottom of his suitcase after stealing it back from the counselors' cabin as a trophy and put it out of his mind.

He wasn't actually sure how it had ended up in that box of memories. One of his parents had to have found it.

Why had he never been lectured on it? Or at least interrogated?

His musings on the past were interrupted when Juliet got out of the car and headed for the front door.

He quickly unbuckled and headed after her at a jog.

She could not be allowed to run unsupervised in here or she was likely to drain their savings. When Godiva was involved it shut down the financial savvy portion of her brain.

It was worse than a BOGO sale at Payless.

She grabbed a basket and proceeded to begin her perusal.

Shawn followed, his eyes widening at the selections she made.

When she hit twenty-five dollars he spoke up.

"Okay, that's it."

"No."

"No?" he repeated. "Juliet, you've got your half-"

"No, I don't."

His brow furrowed. He wasn't the best at math, but he was pretty sure 25 was half of 50.

She borrowed his 'psychic' powers and said, "Accounting for two decades of inflation means I have another sixteen dollars and eighty-three cents left." With that she turned back to her shopping.

Shawn's jaw dropped, but as she told the clerk to add two more of whatever chocolate she was currently drooling over, he decided that it would only go worse for him if he said _anything_ at this point.

So he did the smart thing and shut his mouth, trailing her silently.

He didn't even point out that with tax she spent more than fifty-dollars, with or without twenty-year-old inflation.

As they walked back out to the car, Juliet licking her fingers after devouring the first of her treats, Shawn wondered how long his stay in the doghouse would be.

"Hey, Shawn?"

He turned from opening the door and opened his mouth to ask what she needed.

She took the opportunity and popped a chocolate in his mouth.

He bit down in surprise and was rewarded by some kind of pineapple filling.

"Mmmm," was what came out instead of his question.

She smiled, then leaned in for a kiss, the coconut of hers mixing with his pineapple for a piña colada kiss.

When he finally managed to pull back—after a few false starts to go back for _one_ more taste—he saw her eyes twinkling.

"I've got a few other combinations I'd like to try. Wanna go home and make out?"

"Yes," he said immediately. Then shook his head. "No!"

She arched an eyebrow.

"I mean, I do, but . . . the séance."

She just grinned when he looked so forlornly at the bag.

"The scarf is in the hall closet, top shelf, third box from the right."

His eyes went to hers.

"What? But if you knew then . . . why did we look in the atti . . ." He trailed off as comprehension dawned. "You set me up. You sneaky little . . ."

She laughed. "Shawn, I found that box _months_ ago. I just couldn't think of a good reason to get you up there so I could 'discover' it."

"You . . . I . . . But . . ."

She kissed him again and the rush of piña colada once more refocused his thoughts.

"So, home?" she asked.

He grinned and opened the door for her.

"Your carriage awaits, milady."

She grinned herself and climbed in.

Shawn circled the car to the driver's side.

He had no idea how he'd gotten so lucky as to actually convince her to marry him, but days like today he just counted his blessings and didn't question it.

* * *

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